There's A Line and We Can't Cross It
by writingforthemoney
Summary: It started with a decomposed body as most of their stories do. It started in numerous ways, in numerous places, but either way you say that it started, it…them…they started here; one way, one place. Away the 100th could happen...
1. Chapter 1

_**Title**__: There is a line and we can't cross it_

_**Author**__: writingherhope/ writingforthemoney_

_**Pairing**__: B/B_

_**Rating**__: T_

_**Summary**__: It started with a decomposed body as most of their stories do. It started when he walked in, not of his own will, looking for the 'cold fish' his colleagues had warned him about. It started when she looked him over not quite sure what her opinion of him was yet. It started in numerous ways, in numerous places, but either way you say that it started, it…them…they started here; one way, one place. _

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own BONES, Brennan, Booth or anything other than the random agent mentioned here._

_**Spoiler Alert**__: Nothing really, but there is a mention from one of the promos about the 100th—and well it's about part of their first meeting, and well just read it…. _

_**A/N: **__Well this is the story I wrote at 3 in the morning in my head and I've tried to get it like it was in my head...but I don't know. So far it's just a one-shot...but I had more in my head, hopefully I can remember the rest of it and add a second part! Hope you all enjoy!_

It started with a decomposed body as most of their stories do. It started when he walked in, not of his own will, looking for the 'cold fish' his colleagues had warned him about. It started when she looked him over not quite sure what her opinion of him was yet. It started in numerous ways, in numerous places, but either way you say that it started, it…them…they started here; one way, one place.

An argument.

The firing range.

He went there to let off steam, and after the past few weeks that he's had with that woman he had a lot to let off. Why did she have to be so stubborn? So irritating…so, so…so damn hot; his finger pulled the trigger: hitting the target in the shoulder. "Damn!"

"I thought you would be a better shot." Her voice rang out through the range causing him to turn around.

Giving her his patented Booth smile (yet to be named 'the charm smile') he spoke roughly, "Yeah, well I am, see those other holes up there?" Gesturing his hand with the rhetorical question, "There mine as well."

Her eyes raised, "Oh." Walking towards him, "Then why the last shot? You really should try to focus more."

Booth opened his mouth to speak but then thought better of it, what would he say, 'I was thinking about how I want nothing more than to push you up against the nearest surface and ….'? (A short six years later he'd come to find out that this was phallic rage) "Did you need something Brennan?"

"Doctor." She corrected, "And I was told that you might be here. An agent informed Zack that he would have the paperwork for me to sign, but that agent sent me to you."

Booth's eyes narrowed, "Yeah. I have the paperwork." He sat his gun on the counter, "Maybe you can answer something for me?"

"Of course, I can answer anything." She spoke innocently.

His fist clenched, "That. That right there. What makes you think that you know everything? What makes you think that you are better than me?"

Brennan took notice of his fists and anger, but answered as honestly and bluntly as always, "Because I have a very high IQ and I am better than you in certain areas."

"No. No you aren't. All men are created equal." (A conversation that later in life would be cause for a déjà vu moment).

She laughed, while gathering his point she couldn't resist goading him, "I thought you had noticed by now that I am most certainly not a male." Her head cocked to the side, with a slight smile on her face. (She knew that this wasn't like her, but something about this man…made her want to push him into the nearest surface and show him just how much she knew.)

Booth closed his eyes to keep them from roaming over the fantastic parts of her that he had noticed made her nothing but female. "You are …" he groaned, "You are a woman, yes I've noticed. You are such a…know-it-all!"

Brennan stepped closer to him, and he stepped back involuntarily. "Why were you so resistant of the facts that I gave you about this case?"

"Because you were looking at the bones of the guy!" Step back.

Step forward, "That's what I do. What I was trained to do, just like you with the gun." Step forward.

Two steps back. Wall. Trapped. Trapped by the most tempting woman he'd ever met, and he was highly questioning if he had the balls to do anything about it (and would be for the upcoming years).

However she…she was something else. There was a fire in her eyes that he hadn't seen before, but as she got closer the slow fire turned into a raging forest fire. Her tongue reached out to lick her lips as her fingertips just barely touched his bicep. He swallowed hard, "I don't care how much you are trained, it was and is still very hard to believe that you can tell the things you can by just staring at some bones."

"I do more than stare. I analyze," her eyes take in the way his eyes have dilated, "I touch," the fingertips on his bicep moved to be replaced by her full palm, "I run tests, see what actions will cause a reaction," her hand softly ran down his arm to his wrist and then her fingertips ran back up to the start, noticing the goose bumps her touch caused his skin, even through his shirt. "And I find answers."

With her final word Brennan's hand moved to his neck, while raising her body towards his and kissed his mouth hard. (She didn't believe in fate after all, and she could gather that he did, she did not want him to misinterpret her lust for love.) He's lips responded soon enough but as they kissed they spoke roughly to each other. He first, "After analyzing," he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, "touching," his hand reached her hair, tangling in it, "testing," his tongue swept across her lip, plunging past it finding hers ready for a fight, "what answers," he groaned as her other hand reached his waistline, "have you found?" finally finishing his question and initial exploration of her mouth.

Brennan chuckled devilishly, "That you, Seeley," hand touching his belt buckle, her tongue running across the seam of his top teeth and roof of mouth causing him to moan, "are extremely," pulling back slightly, "attracted to me." This struck him, his jaw cocked to the side and his eyes opened, "I am good at what I do."

He didn't answer, only let his tongue leave her mouth and the hand in her hair to pull her head back roughly exposing her neck and placed wet kisses up her jaw line to her ear, circling the shell he found there, Booth spoke hoarsely, "No one is as good as you think you are." His grip on her hair softening.

(She would never admit just how turned on by his roughness was, ever.) She smirked confidently as his lips came back to hers but only allowed them a whisper of a touch. As she answered the challenge, the movement of her lips tickled erotically against his, "Oh, but I am," her hand which had rested comfortably and safely on his buckle moved to cup his painfully hard erection.

"Agent Booth," Neither of them heard the door to the firing range open over the rush of lust and adrenaline, but they both heard the unwelcomed visitor looking for the man pushed up against the wall of his section. "You in here?"

Brennan squeezed him, winking as she pulled back, "Zack will be told not to answer your calls again." And the jean clad ass walked haughtily toward the door, leaving Special Agent Seeley Booth gripping the gun counter with one hand while trying to hide his erection with the other. She smiled at the agent waiting for Booth on her way out knowing that she had just turned the cocky man who had walked into her office a few weeks ago tall, strong and hot into a lifeless pile of flesh covered bones and a very different yet all the same kind of hot.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Title**__: There is a line and we can't cross it_

_**Author**__: writingherhope/ writingforthemoney_

_**Pairing**__: B/B_

_**Rating**__: T_

_**Summary**__: It started with a decomposed body as most of their stories do.____It started here at the first chapter of this story… Because this is where I think they truly started to feel the UST. _

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own BONES, Brennan, Booth or anything other than the random agent mentioned here._

_**Spoiler Alert**__: THE PILOT. I suggest reading the first part of this story first, you can find the link up there in the Summary section. _

_**A/N: **__So this is the rest of the one-shot that I dreamed up in my head at 3am…hope you enjoy! And that it's not to clichéd or silly. _

It started with a decomposed body as most of their stories do. It started when the boy answered the phone only to hang up on him. It started when she stepped off that plane in D.C. It started with a defensive kicking of the ass of one Department of Homeland Security Agent at the airport. It started with a "Don't call me Bones.", "Parlez-vous François?", Scully and Mulder and blackmail. It started in numerous ways, in numerous places, but either way you say that it started, it…them…they started here; one way, one place.

An argument.

The firing range.

Ever since that day she found him here, she realized just how much shooting helped release stress and relate to Andy's character more. She'd come here every once in awhile to practice her gunmanship and also to feel the gun in her hand, the power that it gave her. Life and death was at her fingertips, in her control; in contrast to the death she lived with everyday. She felt the way her fingertip hooked around the trigger and the jolt of the bullet's release. She took a deep breath pulling the trigger again.

She wasn't supposed to see him ever again, told him that she wouldn't work with him anymore; that Zack wouldn't answer. In Zack's defense, he didn't answer, but that didn't stop _him_ from finding her. From being the alpha male that he refused to acknowledge that he was, staging a hold for question request just so he could stage a fake rescue. "Squint." She mumbled with a curl of her finger. "Bones." Another bullet hit the target. Brennan just didn't know what made me so…so…attractive. Why had she kissed him the last time she stood in this firing range with him? Why had she gone home and pleasured herself, before writing the steamiest sex scene in her novel? What was it about that man that made her so hot?

"Thought I'd find you here. " The voice that had haunted her dreams the past year and her reality the past few days broke her from her reverie about him. Ironic, huh? Or was it coincidental? "You know, you being a good shot and doing martial arts, it's all you way of dealing. Who knows better than you how fragile life can be?"

She'd pulled her earphones off and turned to almost face him, "Maybe an Army Ranger sniper who became an FBI homicide investigator?"

Booth walked up to the counter, beside her, "Ah, you looked me up, huh?" Gesturing to her gun, "Do you mind?"

Another thing she'd never admit to (like the fact that in every one of her fantasies about him he had her by her hair pulling her roughly in the same manner he had that first time) was that seeing him hold a gun was strangely erotic and uncharacteristically soothing. "Be my guest."

"Thank you."

She assumed that a professional (if you could call them that) in the softer science would say that it was her subconscious,(the fifteen year old little girl who'd lost her parents) in her that sought out to be protected and nurtured by someone. She also assumed that if that were to be true to those professionals, that Booth would be a reasonable choice, he seemed very protective in nature and she would hypothesize that he would make a good father should he choose to procreate. Of course those assumptions only covered the soothing part that it invoked in her; the arousal that the sight of him and a gun was caused by the mere fact that Seeley Booth was structured very, very well and the muscles it took him to raise the gun and pull the trigger—and the look on his face as he fired…Brennan took a deep breath to see him take the shot and chuckled, "Were you any good at being a sniper?"

Laying the gun on the counter, Booth turned to her, "A sniper gets to know a little something about killers. Senator Bethlehem, he's no killer."

Cocking her head Brennan spoke, "Oh, and Oliver Laurier is?"

Step forward, him. Step back, her. Wall. Trapped. Déjà vu hit them both, and they each wondered if they would have a similar experience this time. "The way I read Laurier, he's unhinged. That makes him dangerous."

Brennan wasn't one to be out done and she wasn't about to let him see how affected she was by his close proximity, "That'd be your gut telling you that, correct?"

With his hand still by her head on the wall that she was leisurely leaned up against he spoke, "You know, homicides, they're not solved by scientists. They're solved by guys like me asking a thousand questions a thousand times, catching people telling lies every time. You're great at what you do, Bones," (a direct contrast to his statement the last time they were in this position) " but you don't solve murders," he licked his lips, glancing down at hers, "cops do."

She didn't let the glance at her mouth or his tongue swiping out over his own distract her, "Cleo Eller was killed on a cement floor sprinkled with diatomaceous earth. Traces of her blood will still be in that cement. One of us is wrong, maybe both of us. But if Bethlehem wasn't a Senator, you'd be right there in his basement looking for that killing floor." She gave him a smirk and paused, "You're afraid of him." The next came her true challenges, she let her unspoken ones shine in her eyes as she spoke, "Your hypothesis is that squints don't solve murders and cops do," with her next two words the shine in her eyes asked him if he had the balls to repeat history, "prove it." Brennan saw that he was warring with himself, "Be a cop." Pushing off the wall she moved slower than she would have, only she was giving him the chance to man up and leave her standing there, holding herself up by the gun counter like she had him.

---

Booth watched the smirk appear across those gorgeous kissable lips as she spoke to him about being afraid and then looked her in the eyes just in time to see her double meanings, "prove it. Be a cop." An easy enough translation, "kiss me. Be a man." But could he do it?

As she pushed herself from the wall Booth thought he wasn't going to have to make a decision that she was going to do it for him, take over like the first time they stood in this firing range and push him against the wall, leaving him with a raging sexual need for release that Tessa would be questioning him about. But he was wrong, she was leaving this one to him, and he was just waiting for the hand that dropped from the wall, allowing her to pass to grab her elbow and pull her back to him.

Instead it grabbed his gun, firing two shots into the targets head (again a short six years later he'd have a name for the reason he grabbed his gun and fired a round or two off, effectively killing a target, after a very stimulating encounter with that woman; phallic rage.) For now he'd settle with doing exactly what she thought he was afraid of doing…well one of the things she thought he was afraid of doing; he didn't think he was ready to kiss her again, but he'd go visit Bethlehem. He knew that if he did kiss her, he wouldn't be able to control himself. And while that may be perfectly fine with her, it wasn't for him; he wanted more. And because they had formed this weird partner alliance thing nothing could happen between them.

It started with a decomposed body as most of their stories do. It started with a phone call. It started with an office visit. It started with pie. It started with family. It started with dining and ditching. It started with thai food. It started with Jasper and Brainy Smurf. It started with Hot Blooded, Keep on Tryin' and Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. It started with kidnappings, gunshots, bombs and criminals. It started with a a decomposed body and FBI agents and Squints; people with very high IQ's and basic reasoning skills, you know.

It started in numerous ways, in numerous places, but either way you say that it started, it…them…they started here; one way, one place.

An argument.

The firing range.

Only the hart knows where it will end, but it's always a hell of a ride for them and they were all buckled in for the ride. Are you?


End file.
